


You Are Not Evil

by NahBae101



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Love Triangles, Mental Health Awareness Writing Challenge, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:35:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29131926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NahBae101/pseuds/NahBae101
Summary: Life after the war should seem relatively simple. Tears, sweat and blood are gone. Death ceased to exist. Carefree.However, not everyone has relieved of the burden of the war.Hermione Granger repeats her seventh year at Hogwarts. Her dreams of working at the Ministry of Magic force her to take even more classes, more subjects to pass in exams, long and hard hours in the library waiting for her strained brain.Draco Malfoy bypassed the war crimes trial. By the time. His only condition is to finish the year without waiver and then disappear with his belongings. The other students don't quite make it easy. They want him thrown out. End him.What if someone puts the experiences of the war aside and stands up for the weaker?What if it turns into something completely forbidden by society?What if ... dirty blood was never as dirty as they said?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	1. Wounds of the Past

The trip to Hogwarts was extraordinarily...

Odd.

It is not entirely possible to describe the feeling of returning to a place where for some time you thought that it would all be over.

The ride had never been so long. Hermione had read all of her first semester books twice, her willingness to prepare ahead of time making her eyes feel uncomfortably dry.

The know-it-all.

Professor Snape's words in her third year stuck in her head like a splinter. Only this one stuck in the skin for a probable eternity. Maybe even further.

As always, the train was filled with students' talk and laughter, the silence today made her feel a chill run down her spine.

Grave silence.

Hermione tried not to think about the war. However, it is not that what happened disappears from our mind even though we assure everyone that it does not hurt. When we say that the wounds have healed, they are actually covered with thick pus. Infection.

Pain.

Losing her friends hurt her. The loss of her parents hurt her. It hurt her that Harry and Ron hadn't decided to return to Hogwarts.  
Harry and Ginny focused on their relationship, not procrastinating after all that happened when Ginny almost lost her love from a young age. They sent each other letters every other day. Hermione curses the day her owl gets too old for long flights. Harry writes less. The boy who survived, whether he graduated or not, got a job at the Ministry.

Department of International Wizarding Cooperation.

Hermione was overjoyed at Harry's achievement. She knew she would achieve a lot.

It is not that she was not offered this. Yes, she received many letters from the Ministry, but her urge to finish her studies prevailed. Her dream was to work in the Magical Creatures Control Department. This surprised no one.

_Ron._

She was... in touch with Ron. That was all she could say about it.

Everyone thought it was going to be forever. She and he. The wise one and the one not entirely.

Even Rita Skeeter couldn't stop showering Hermione with letters about the Daily Prophet interview.

**"YOUNG LOVE DIES AFTER THE WAR"**

Hermione didn't read any further. The newspaper turned to dust in a second.

This woman was getting on her nerves.

**~ * ~**

The meal in the Great Hall to start the year will never be the same again.

Minerva McGonagall, the Headmistress of Hogwarts today, did not quite follow Dumbledore's traditions. There was no greeting before the feast. There were no announcements. No warnings.

There were... a handful of students.

Looking at how once the students barely fit at the tables, today there was too much of this space. It was almost empty. Cold.

The school did not admit new students this year. McGonagall decided that despite the worst behind us, we still couldn't be sure. Hermione looked around for familiar faces. At the Gryffindor table, her closest ones - Seamus, Neville, Dean, Parvati. Right in front of them is Ravenclaw - Cho and Luna. Huffle-

The sound of the enormous door to the hall opened, and a face familiar to the whole world of magic looked straight ahead with pale eyes.

Fatigue.

That's what Hermione saw on the boy's face. Man more. He seemed taller, broader shoulders, elongated silhouette, shirt hugging his shoulders.

However, he was...

Thin. Pale - more than usual. Dark circles under the eyes visible from the very end of the room.

_Malfoy._

Shouldn't it be a coincidence in Azkaban? War crimes no longer play a role in 18-year-olds?

However, not only he makes the entrance of the century.

Theo.

Blaise.

_Pansy?_

Who if who, but ... an active Death Eater during the war, many souls on her conscience. Didn't all of this happen suddenly?

The ministry actually needs a new composition.

The entire group goes to the Slytherin table. As they were seated, the rest of the table automatically stood up and changed places. Elsewhere. As far as possible from them.

Hermione felt... sympathy? She should not. She was looking straight at her problem from seven years ago. All school life lost by incitement, ridicule. Mudblood

_Mudblood._

Hermione looked down at her arm, covered with the sleeve of her white shirt. It did nothing. Her memorial of war radiated through every layer of clothing. It did not heal. It didn't scratch, the skin around it didn't bleed when she cut - she tried many times. No antidote. Poison.

Her gaze returned to the blonde, strangely positioned perfectly in front of her. He was already looking at her. No - he glanced at her brain, tore it open, tried to read it. What was he looking for? Anger? Pain? Revenge? He didn't have to look long. She would very much like to serve it to him on a silver plate. She'd feed him this. Until he can't swallow any more. He choked. He strangled.

_He died._

She never wished anyone else's death except Voldemort. But while that was old story, well... a new focal point must be found.

Draco Malfoy was her starting point.

**~ * ~**

"Hermione." Parvati's voice interrupted her thoughts. She was reading  
'Hogwarts: A History'.

_Again._

"Hm?"

"Everything is... okay with you?" Parvati's voice was low, rough. As if she was afraid that Hermione would use Cruciatus on her for asking questions.

"At best. Something's wrong?"

Parvati hesitated. "I just... saw. I saw your gaze as Malfoy entered the Great Hall."

"That's nothing."

"Hermione." Parvati pushed. "After everything that's happened, I understand how you feel, but I've never seen you like this. You looked like you-"

"Wanted to kill him?"

Parvati turned pale immediately. Hermione's expression was devoid of any emotion as she spoke, sounded perfectly normal to her, like a morning greeting.

"Exactly."

"You see, war doesn't always end in full, don't you think?"

Her roommate didn't answer. It is true that she did not utter a word until the end of the day.

Every time they return for another year, each house has a kind of party. In short, alcohol and noise. It sounded like that in her dictionary. But tonight, the stress and anger of the day hit Hermione's thinking, prompting her to join the rest.

Alcohol made sense to her today. She wanted to forget for a while. That's how it works right? You drink, you forget, then everything starts all over again.

Yes. It definitely made sense.

A lot. She drank so much. Enough for her world to turn in slow motion with every movement of her head. Too much.

She waited for this moment to be forgotten. Just for a minute to focus on what Dean meant when he explained his centaur joke. She waited. Long.

She was on her fifth glass when her body temperature soared. Hot. Too hot. She got up on wobbly legs and headed for the exit from the common room. Nobody noticed. Dean hasn't finished explaining his joke yet.

**~ * ~**

Hermione staggered through the dark school corridors. Glass in hand. Pain in the heart. She had no specific purpose for which she was going. As far away from people as possible.

It wouldn't be so hard to sit among your friends as it used to, on the first night of the new school year.

The problem was that everyone was still _laughing_.

Have they forgotten? Only a few months had passed. Trauma and agony do not leave a person so quickly. Definitely not her. Each image as one of her friends fell down at the battle, a flash of green spell light tattooed on her brain.

How do they do it?

Light legs led her to an abandoned part of the school. The only people who ever set foot here are Filch, somehow, and students looking for a quiet place for their teenage love affairs.

_Ha!_

_Pathetic._

She opened a random door. The alcohol in the veins made them heavier than usual. She headed for the sink, poured cold water over her face to sober up.

A sudden sound stopped her in place.

Cry.

Howl.

Who the-

She could see legs behind the ajar door of one of the cabins. Black dress pants, elegant shoes. She wished she didn't care. But she knew herself too well. She walked towards the cabin and opened the door fully.

_This is some fucking joke._

The boy was sitting on a closed toilet, elbows resting on his knees, face hidden in his hands. Instantly he stopped and looked at his obstacle.

"What are you-"

"Fuck off, Granger."

Malfoy. His face, drenched with salty tears, shone faintly in the moonlight coming from the enormous bathroom windows.

"Are you... _crying_?"

"Are you fucking deaf? I said get the fuck out." silvery eyes fixed on her hazel. The sight was extremely surreal.

Hermione took one step forward. The alcohol floating in her was moving her like a puppet. _What the hell are you doing?_

Her hand twitched before reaching out toward his face.

"Granger-"

In one, slow motion, her thumb washed the signs of his weakness from his cheeks. Chill.

"Do you feel it too?" she asked, her hand not leaving his cheek.

"What are you talking about? No-"

"Pain." she interrupted. "Does it hurt you too? The past?"

Draco didn't budge. His eyes closed in hers. They glowed as if her own tears were pooling in her eyelids.

"I-"

"It hurts to even _fucking_ breathe." she stated, her expression like a scale, without emotion. He reads curiosity. Inspiration. "Do you know what it is like to see someone close to you who is losing breath?"

"Granger, get-"

"I know. And you know what?" the silence between her words lasted for a few long seconds.

Draco's mouth tightened into a thin line, waiting for her words to hit him.

_"I'm waiting for the day when I see you take your last breath."_

Her hand vanished instantly from his cheek, she backed away from the cabin, running out of the bathroom, leaving an empty glass on the sink and the boy who should have died - torn apart.


	2. Sight, touch, breath

The killer hangover.

The only words that could describe her condition.

She felt as if her head had swollen, and for a moment she wondered if she would see something that looked like a medicine ball instead of a head. Yesterday's night was-

Last night.

No.

_No. No. No._

She remembered.

Some side of her wanted her to forget. 

Tension.

She didn't want to think about what would have happened if she hadn't run out of the toilet last night. She felt as if she could ...

Kill him.

Make it disappear.

She felt sick in her stomach. And that wasn't alcohol consumption last night.

It was rage. She wanted him to go away.

She was curious on what basis he was allowed to return to school. What about the rest of his pathetic clique? Everyone should be locked up. She was sure of it.

She got out of bed, she couldn't be late. Not now. Never.

That's not her.

She didn't even bother brushing her curls. It's not that anyone cared.

As she left the Gryffindor common room, putting the books in her bag, she didn't look around. She couldn't care less. She had to get into class.

Potions.

As she approached the classroom door, the dark-haired boy waved her way with a sincere smile on his face.

"Hermione! Here!"

Neville grew even taller, she thought. She wasn't sure how this was possible, he already surpasses every student.

"Hey Neville, I'm not late, am I?" she asked.

"Oh no, don't worry about that, Slughorn is always at least ten minutes late, don't you remember?"

She didn't remember.

Life in school before the war is a complete blur for her. She remembered things, but some sort of general professor's habit was irrelevant to her.

**~ * ~**

As everyone sat down in the classroom, Hermione, sitting with the dark-haired boy, heard a commotion outside the door. The door opened and two boys entered.

Theo stepped inside and took the seat while the blonde stood there almost chilled.

He was looking at her.

It seemed like an eternity when in reality it was probably less than two seconds. His gray eyes blazed with something she couldn't define. It certainly wasn't worth considering.

**~ * ~**

The lesson was over, but she couldn't remember anything Slughorn had said about their work for the next semester.

Because he was still _watching_.

She caught him staring  
Seven times - yes, she counted - each time their eyes met, she felt something trickle down her spine. A cold shiver.

Disgusting.

After class finished, she practically ran out of there, trying to find a place to take the breath she had been holding for the last hour.

She went into the broom closet, dropped the bag to the ground, leaned over the bookshelves, and inhaled and then exhaled.

Why was he staring? Was he planning to do something? Because he definitely scared her. She wondered if he wanted her to die too. Did he plan every step in his head. Maybe his little army was in it too? She wouldn't be surprised.

Her head turned towards the door when she heard the lock click and the handle rotating. If it was Filch, she thought, she's screwed.

But the person who actually came was far worse than she had expected.

Draco.

He slowly entered the room, checking outside before closing the door, still with his back to her and not turning around for another minute.

Expectancy.

She couldn't breathe again, had no idea what was going to happen.

He finally turned to face her, his gray eyes blazing as he looked at her. They both stood frozen by what seemed like an eternity.

He didn't say anything, just stared. He started to approach her, reducing the distance between them. She couldn't move.

When he was only two paces away, he finally spoke up.

"Do you have a headache, Granger?"

_What?_

He continued. "Mine does. Excruciating pain."

What was he talking about? Did he want her to do something? Did she say something? Her thoughts blinded her, biting her lip as she tried to guess his intentions.

He took the last two steps, quickly grabbing her by the shoulders and pinning her to the bookshelf so hard she hit her head.

"You see, I didn't drink yesterday. I wasn't in the mood for the party. Do you know why my head hurts, Granger?"

She didn't answer. She just looked at him, her eyes begging him to tell her. She felt pain as his hands squeezed her shoulders, holding her still.

He swallowed, his eyes scanned her face, lingering on her lips for too long.

"Because I can't stop thinking about your face yesterday. I saw the way you were looking at me."

His voice was low and deep, almost a whisper.

"You want me dead, Granger?"

She looked into his eyes. His eyes darkened. She wanted to answer, yell at him, show him what she wanted to do to him. She tried to reach for her wand, but somehow he noticed it and he let go of her hands only to catch her wrists and pin them on either side of her head.

"Always so predictable." She saw a smirk appear on his lips.

"What are you playing at, Malfoy?" She gritted her teeth, apparently uncomfortable with how close their faces were, their noses brushing against each other.

His smile widened. "If you want me dead so bad, Granger," he looked at her lips again for a split second, then met her eyes again, his expression darkening.

"Do it before someone else does."

And after that, he let go of her wrists, her knees suddenly numb, she almost fell to the ground. He ran out of the room, leaving her confused and speechless.

What the fuck happened?

**~ * ~**

She stayed in the broom closet for almost an hour, thinking about what had happened before, trying to breathe.

She left the room and returned to the common room. It was already dark outside, she knew if she didn't hurry she would miss dinner.

Upon arriving at her dormitory and regrouping, she crashed into Parvati as she was exiting the room.

"Hermione? Merlin, where have you been? Everyone was so worried!"

"Yes- sorry, I- I just- I just went for a walk, that's all."

Parvati laid her things on the bed and joined Hermione to go to the Great Hall for dinner.

"It was a long walk, huh? We almost thought Malfoy and his pathetic friends caught you or something."

_If you only knew._


	3. The Art of Self Punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: This chapter covers the following topics - anxiety disorders, panic attacks, self-harm, emetophobia.

When she sat at dinner on her usual spot at the Gryffindor table, her thoughts were only back in the broom closet.

The fact that he took her there - no, dragged here there - and said those words to her brought unpleasant chills to go down her spine. 

_"If you want me dead so bad Granger..."_

She tried to brainstorm everything, trying to calculate the exact situation she put herself into. She wasn't involving herself with him, no, but the situation was definitely surreal.

_"... do it before someone else does."_

Yeah, definitely surreal.

This exchange of words between them brought one thought into her head. 

Did he want to die?

Certainly not, who in their right mind would want that?

This boy was intelligent, she new that and she could admit that. She's seen how he's been in classes these past few years, they were going head to head with their marks. 

But they could never be compared. Never.

"What time is it?" she went out of her thoughts, remembering something, she should never forget to do. 

"Almost seven." Parvati answered, not looking up from her magazine she was reading while eating. 

Those tacky, pathetic magazines, she thought. 

She took her last three bites of her food and got to her feet, hurrying back to the common room. Her mind was full of things she couldn't quite place, they made her shiver and put a lot of stressing pressure on her sternum. She always felt this terror even though, nothing bad was happening. 

When she got to her dorm, she opened her trunk to find a box that was tucked deep within the stuff she had stashed there. She went to the shared bathroom and opened the box that revealed 4 leaves of small, white pills, half of them already gone. She popped two out of the package and into her mouth before washing it down with water from the sink tap. 

That was something she was new to. After the war, her mind was clustered with fear from within that she couldn't quite place. It made her wake up at night drenched in cold sweat, trying to catch her breath, feeling sick to her stomach. She would sit next to the toilet for what felt like hours, fearing she would throw up, since she had this fear of vomiting. Her body shaking every time she felt something was wrong, even though nothing was happening. 

It was all in her head, she told herself. She tried to push those thoughts away, calming herself down, keeping herself from waking up her mother back when she was at home, scared that she would make her mad for waking her up at four in the morning.

She's just waiting for the day she can just put this memories back. Write it down in one of many books and put them into place in her mental library. 

The pills made her feel...

Well, nothing. 

They had this weird numbing effect on emotions, that she thought she could probably watch someone die on the spot and she wouldn't place it in her brain up until the effects of the pills wore off. 

Studying was hard. She didn't know these were the side effects. The lack of concentration was infuriating. She always read every single book she had for the upcoming term beforehand. But now because of the pills, the tiredness, she couldn't go through half of the first one. And she didn't even feel like it was a big deal at the end.

Because that was part of the treatment. Not to feel things. Close yourself on negative emotions. Close yourself on every possible emotion.

She was living in her mental prison. 

**~*~**

No.

No. No. No.

NO!

Hermione shot up to a sitting position on her bed, dripped in cold sweat, struggling to catch a breath. Someone could say she just ran a marathon. 

But it was 3:47 in the morning.

And no, it wasn't a marathon.

It was a panic attack. 

The urge to vomit was getting stronger, something hard pushing at her throat, her hands clawing at the neck, as if that would ease the pressure.

She grabbed the cup filled with water from her nightstand, using her wand to boil the water, the temperature high enough to burn skin.

Just how she liked it.

After grabbing a Muggle cellphone, that her mother gave her to communicate with her in case of emergency after she got diagnosed, she practically ran to the bathroom, every step being a way of trying to escape this madness. 

She opened the toilet seat, sat on the floor close to it just in case and put the flesh burning hot mug on her upper stomach, pressing it. 

She enjoyed the pain of something burning her skin. She thought it made her brain concentrate on the pain rather then panicking. 

Same with cold. 

If it was cold enough to give you a frostbite, it was absolutely fucking divine.

She started the breathing exercise that the psychiatrist in the Muggle hospital taught her. 

In through your nose...

Hold...

1...2...3...

Out through your mouth.

No.

It's not working. 

She was drinking the boiling water, enjoying the way it burned her throat along the way to her stomach. 

And then the worst fear.

She heaved. 

No.

No. No. NO, FUCKING NO!

She grabbed the cellphone, checking the time. It was almost four in the morning, and her eyes widened at the realization of how little time has actually passed.

Those minutes felt like hours.

Fuck it.

She used the keyboard on the device, trying with her shaking hands to pick her mother's number. 

Signal.

Waiting...

"... Hermione?"

Thank fucking god.

"Mum... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." she just realized she's crying.

"What's wrong?" her mother asked, her voice quiet and groggy from sleeping.

"You know what's wrong, mum, please don't make me say it, please."

"What are you feeling right now, sweetheart?"

"I'm just- I'm... like suffocating, I'm- please mum I don't want to throw up, please!" 

The tone of her pleas was crushing to her mother. She always felt helpless, because she, as well as her daughter, knew there was very little anyone could do. It was just the way she begged for it to stop. It broke her heart.

"You're not going to throw up, Hermione, listen to my voice it's okay."

That was the main reason Hermione called her mother when the panic attacks were too strong to handle herself. She just wanted to hear her mother's voice. Back at home it was just her presence that did it for her. But being so far away from her and her own bed at home made everything so much worse. 

She just needed the voice.

**~*~**

After a short while, Hermione's panic cooled down. She was able to hang up the phone and let her mother go back to sleep. 

She, however, stayed up.

The cup of water, now cold, long forgotten as she stoop up from the floor and turned to the mirror. It was a horrible sight ever single time. 

She looked dead.

It was always like this. Those few minutes spent on something close to an out of body experience felt like they drained the absolute fucking life out of her. 

She splashed some cold water on her face, used her wand to clean up the bathroom, leaving no trace of her existence, and walked out on the bathroom. 

She stood there for a minute and decided she's not going back to bed. She needed air.

She quietly made her way out of the the hallway that led to the common room. After opening the Fat Lady portrait, she found her deep in her slumber, snoring, not likely to wake up anytime soon.

She casted a nonverbal Lumos and the tip of her wand shined with bright light. She kept her wand down though, she wasn't trying o wake up any portraits tonight... or today, judging from the time. 

_5:37 AM._

She walked the corridors, stopping the huge window, feeling the cold breeze from the little openings in them. 

She loved inhaling cold air, it felt deliciously refreshing in her airways. 

_Crack_.

Her head shot to the left, casting a nonverbal Nox, praying to gods that she wasn't about to be caught by Filch.

 _Crack_.

Her eyes drifted to a faint splash of light that could be seen in the light crack in the door to one of the abandoned classrooms. 

Curiosity.

She took slow steps towards the door. She didn't know who could possibly be out of bed this early, sitting in the abandoned classroom doing god knows wh-

She looked through the crack in the door. And then she saw it. 

It was Malfoy. 

Standing in the middle of the room, facing the wall, casting multiple hexes at it only to make them bounce back and hit him straight to his chest. 

A gasp left her lips.

Too loud.

He heard her. Turned his head to look.

Made eye contact with her.

And smiled. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
